


the myth of tantalus

by CosmicTurnabout



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Introspection, Light Dom/sub, Light Food Play, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Pre-Sundering (Final Fantasy XIV), Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicTurnabout/pseuds/CosmicTurnabout
Summary: Emet-Selch yearns to decipher Azem's mystery, but is only mystified further when she tempts him with forbidden knowledge.
Relationships: Azem/Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	the myth of tantalus

Divine law dictated that if Emet-Selch had studying of any kind to do, Azem would soon be along to vex him. A few moments, an hour, mayhap half the day—however long it took for her to materialize, the result was always the same: a flummoxed and exasperated Emet-Selch, and a smugly amused Azem. Without fail. 

On this particular day, Emet-Selch was set up on a hill overlooking the Macarenses Angle, resting against a tree with aetherial research tome in hand. It was evening, and the grass reflected the sun in muted golds and browns. Wonderful reading weather. He had gone nearly all day without an interruption, and he was beginning to think he would make it to nightfall undisturbed. 

He should have known better. 

Azem pranced up the hill just as the sun dipped low, and was chattering away before she even reached him. He tried to fend her off with some polite misdirects, but found himself unsuccessful. No, she would stay until he’d heard the _entire_ account of her latest journey, thank you very much. So he sat quietly as she spun the tale for him, finding his frown fading the longer she went on. Like it always did, much as he tried to stop it. 

When she neared the end of the account, talk turned to grapes, of all things. Azem had apparently sampled some particularly excellent specimens on her recent adventure.

“Just the ripest, most delicious grapes you’ve ever had,” she was saying, and produced a small snatch of them from her robes. “Look, Hades. You can practically see how good they taste.” She was holding about six or seven large purple grapes still attached to the stem, and they were as firm and dewy as if they had just been plucked. He imagined she had kept them fresh with an experimental weave of aether. 

“You simply must try them. They’re delectable. And I traveled so very far to bring them back for you.” 

Emet-Selch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Azem, I do not deny that they are pleasing to look at, but they are grapes. I have had grapes before. I cannot imagine they are that much more delicious than the kind that grow locally.” 

Azem made a _tsk_ ing sound. “You doubt me, as always. But consider—I am the only one of us who ever leaves the city, aren’t I?” Emet-Selch grudgingly conceded that this was true. “Humor me this once.” And she dangled the grapes over him. 

The grapes were just out of reach. Azem had gone so far and endured such strife to get her hands on a bunch of this supposedly divine fruit, and she was being a fool about it as always. 

“Let’s try them, then,” said Emet-Selch, fully annoyed once more. “Bring them lower.” He put a finger in the tome to mark his place and cocked an eyebrow in anticipation. She stood over him, back slightly arched, still dangling the bunch just over his head. She’d been tormenting him like this for several moments already, and he knew from experience that she had hours more of this mischief in her.

To his surprise, though, she seemed to be considering his words. She paused, the grapes glinting gently in the dying sunlight, face shadowed in her cowl. She looked at him like that for a good long moment. Her smile never cracked. The wretched woman was going to play some new prank on him, he just knew it. And why did she have to stare at him so? It was enough to make him blush, and soon Emet-Selch decided he had had enough. 

“Really, Azem. What are you on about?” 

“Oh, I was just thinking. How low should I bring these grapes, I wonder...” She laughed suddenly, as if struck by a hilarious idea. “And how easy should I make it to taste them?” 

“What are you—“

Azem came closer, cutting him off. She lowered herself to the ground, quick as a bird, and straddled one of his legs. Her hood fell away; she wasn’t wearing a mask, not even her customary half-mask. Well, he’d known that, hadn’t he? But still—to see her face fully in the low light like this, so suddenly—he hated to admit it, but its sharp beauty jostled him.

And to add to his shock, her left knee was jutting right into his groin. 

“Azem,” he nearly squeaked. The tome he was holding slipped from his suddenly trembling fingers. “Why—“

“Because your head is always in the clouds, Emet-Selch,” she said. “Because you refuse to live in the here and now. Because you never leave Amaurot, just like all the other convocation members, and you know naught of the world beyond tomes and experiments. Because you refuse to admit”—and she bit the words off with a silvery little laugh. “Well. I won’t spell it _all_ out for you.” She shook the small clutch of grapes over his head again. She was surprisingly tall for a woman, and they shivered just within reach. “Now. Try to grab one, if you can. Don’t just humor me. _Indulge_ me, _Hades_.”

Without thinking, Emet-Selch did as bid. He was not sure why—to shut her up? To take his mind off of... other things? Bloody small chance of that. He reached upwards, the tips of his fingers barely grazing the lowest grapes in the clutch. They were not that far away, and he could have easily reached higher, but he was sluggish. His brain was on fire. His face felt gorged with blood, swollen with it. So did his prick, for that matter. 

Azem smiled, digging her knee deeper into the heaviness between his legs. Pain and pleasure both jolted through him like a sword thrust deep into his belly, clipping his spine, and he could feel his thoughts fuzzing into one large mass... a mass that coalesced into _her_ , only her—her scent, a heady mix of all the places she’d ever been, islands and coastlines and lush forests; her hair, long and flowing like dark water out of her cowl; and her smile, so beautiful, so beguiling in its playfulness. The rush of it all set his cock so stiff in his smallclothes that it tented his robes, pressing back against her leg. 

How often had he dreamed of taking her out here, unraveling her mysteries and making her his? Making her whimper and moan as his lips traced each of her curves, marked her neck, her chest, her breasts? _Fucking_ her, deep and hard and fast? It was a slightly blasphemous thought, and for more reasons than one. Amaurotine society could be stifling in its modesty. The highest among them loved to shuffle about and pretend that they didn’t fuck, that they were preoccupied only with their Concepts, that being the stewards of the star made them holy despite what everyone knew they did under the cover of night in their own chambers. 

Azem shifted against his cock once more, laughing, and Emet-Selch understood. She would only yield to him in fantasy. Now she held the power, easy as she dangled those grapes in her hand. Tempting him, teasing him. Part of him thought she always would. 

“Azem...” He swallowed. This was useless—he had lost already, he knew that—but for the sake of his pride, he had to try. “What if... what if someone sees...?” 

“Calm down, dear Hades,” she said, her voice dark. That knee was nigh crushing his length, and yet he wanted nothing more than to keep pressing into it. “It’s evening. No one is out and about. The other convocation members are in the Capitol building, probably debating over whether I should be given a shorter leash.” She leaned in so close that her eyelashes brushed his cheek, and her voice was hot and playfully fierce. “How short of a leash should I have, do you think?” 

“I...” Emet-Selch felt drunk. Azem brought the grapes close, and he opened his mouth to receive them, closing his lips around the biggest one. Azem pulled the bunch back, and he bit the grape off of the branch, juice spraying between his teeth as he started chewing. 

“Mm,” she said. She sounded devilishly pleased with herself. Emet-Selch grunted in response. Azem slid the rest of the bunch up his face to his forehead, leaving small cold trails of dew behind. There they rested for a few long seconds as Emet-Selch reached for them in vain, bits of grape lodging between his teeth as he lapped and chewed at the same time. He was not sure why he was doing it. Azem had him as trained as a dog somehow, and he’d never noticed. Not at all. He was really quite overcome, Amaurotine modesty be damned. 

As he finished chewing, Azem reached down and gave him a long, rough stroke through his robes. He gasped and nearly coughed out the bit of grape he was swallowing. He could feel the seed already dribbling from the head of his cock, staining his clothing from the inside. To the hells with it. They’d come this far. Could he really shame himself any further by giving her what she wanted? 

_And what I want_ , he thought. 

“Good,” she whispered. “How was it?” 

“Hm?” He was so overwhelmed, he could barely remember the taste. But when his eyes met hers, the flavor came rushing back. “Oh. D-delicious. Like to put me into rapture. The best grape I... I have ever had.” It was no lie. He could not lie to this goddess... no—goddess, no... she was a devil, a demon sent from the deepest hells to torment him with an eternity of empty promises and half-realized pleasures. 

“Mm. Just like I said. Think you can get the rest of them, then?” She shook the bunch. 

He looked at the grapes like a man dying of hunger. Could a demon not answer prayers? Could a demon not work its magic in the world, the same as a goddess? All light dissipated before the darkness in her eyes. Those eyes were purple, open so wide they sucked away everything else, becoming his world, enveloping him whole. Like the grapes, he hung helpless from her fingers. His cock moved on its own, ever upward, feeling for her, desperate for her touch. His whole body was on fire. 

“I will damn well try,” he rasped. 

They fell into a dance then, Azem bringing the grapes close, than further away, letting Emet-Selch have his chance at snatching them. Emet-Selch licked and sucked at the grapes with a fervor he found distantly embarrassing, like they were the only nourishment he would receive in days. He could have believed it, the way his whole universe had constricted to this one woman and this small patch of grass. They rocked slowly, in a surging wavelike motion that allowed Emet-Selch to rub his aching cock against Azem’s knee, then her thigh, then—to his shock—her clothed cunt. This was all deliberate, of course—driven expertly by Azem. She knew she was getting him off, and damn well must have been herself, by that twisted smile gracing her face. Evil as it looked, it only made her more beautiful. Their movements felt soft yet rigid, calculated yet free, natural as the cycles of the moon. 

In the midst of this mysterious new universe Emet-Selch caught another grape, then another. He was rewarded first with a second firm stroke of her hand that also encompassed his balls, giving them a tight squeeze. Then she kissed him. The kiss was so levin-quick that he gasped into it, teeth clicking hard, but soon he was melting into her, and she into him. Her tongue snaked against his, grasping, the taste of her mouth and the grapes combining into the most erotic flavor he could ever imagine. Even their aether was mingling, but he was too giddy on the feel of her to really examine the phenomenon. He felt as if all sensation had been focused into the tip of his cock. He was aflame with pleasure, engorged with a deadly desire that might doom him or save him, and he had no idea which. 

He was not sure when they stopped kissing. He was not sure how long ago the sun had set, in fact. It seemed to him that he had been here forever, he and his demon woman, locked in a strange swaying game of lust and denial. All that mattered was what was happening in the spare brace of seconds that constituted _now_ , here, this moment. There was one grape left, and he strained for it. She was straddling him completely, robes swept to the side, and was letting him grind freely into the warmth between her legs. His cock was wet, nearly soaked with his own fluids. He bucked up against her, helpless to do aught else, biting at that last grape, twitching to be allowed release. She reciprocated with movements of her own, gliding against his length, letting him feel the agonizing outline of her slit through her smallclothes. Her lips slid against the vein bulging against the underside of his cock, cupping it in her valley. For the shortest heartbeat he could believe— _yes_ , that he was inside of her, in the grip of her walls, plunging into her as he had so long dreamed of doing. She began to slow down as she approached his tip again, and he nearly cried out. It was almost more than he could stand.

“You’re going to come like this?”

“Y-yes.” 

“Do you _want_ to come like this?”

“Yes!” He grimaced, head-fuzzing pleasure cut with frustration. “Gods, Azem—if gods there be, please, oh please, let me come.” 

Azem’s smile widened to show her teeth. “Then take the last grape.” 

It was then that he knew it for true. He almost laughed. She’d never let him have her, not fully. He would always have to settle for what she was willing to give. 

He’d be the one surrendering, the one pleading with his patron deity for succor. And hells take him, he’d forever be glad to do it. 

Brow furrowed, chest tight, Emet-Selch gave one last hard thrust against the barrier of Azem’s smallclothes, snatched the grape from the air, and erupted. His cock throbbed and flexed, shooting his come into his robes, creating a wet spot in the dark, wrinkled fabric. A pitiful moan escaped his lips as pleasure wrapped him up, sweet and deep as the grape itself. Azem watched the wet patch grow with that playful expression on her face, cheeks flushed, purple eyes wide. His balls pulsed as he emptied, bit by bit, and slowly his breathing returned to normal. He had been panting as if he’d run the length of the Polyleritae District in mere moments. His cock relaxed with his breaths, and he collapsed, arms and legs limp, feeling as if he might sink into the ground. In truth he would have, if it were possible—yes, he would have loved to have been eaten by the earth right then, all to be picked by Azem when his time came to bloom. 

Somewhere along the way he had swallowed the grape. Like all the others, it was delicious. 

The wet patch on his robes was cool by the time Azem moved again. She collected herself, drawing her robes in, and shifted to sit next to him. He propped himself up on his elbows, unsure of what to say. He felt strange, as if something had changed between them. Like she’d uncovered a secret he’d kept hidden for ages, while what he had seen of her had been glimpsed faintly through a curtain rippling in the breeze. 

She reached out with her free hand. He did not flinch away as he might have done only a day before. 

“Pretty boy,” she murmured, drawing her fingers down his face. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of warm fingertips tracing the cooling lines of dew. Her fingers stopped, rested a moment against his cheekbone, then whispered off his chin like a square of silk. “You liked that, didn’t you? And you liked the grapes, as I knew you would.” He said nothing, just opened his eyes. She was smiling. “Maybe I’ll bring a whole great bunch back for you next time. But only if you put in a good word for me at the upcoming convocation meeting, eh? I’d like to travel even further.” She rocked up and shook her arms out of her robes. The moon was high in the sky, outlining her in white. Any hint of the demon was gone. 

What was left? The shell of something holy, or a base vessel dedicated to studying the world outside of Amaurot’s divine realm? She was an integral part of the whole, and yet so different. Painfully different, and—Emet-Selch suspected—irrevocably so. He envied her, almost, and he did not know why.

Azem turned to leave, but Emet-Selch stopped her with a raised hand. 

“Azem,” he said roughly. 

She turned back. “Yes?” 

“Surely by now you realize the effect you have on me.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Obviously.” 

“I have known from the start.” 

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course. In light of that, I want you to tell me one thing. I would hear it from your own lips, here and now. How do you see me?” 

She paused, but her words were strong and sure, as if she had known exactly what she would say ere he had even asked. “I... I see you as a man of extremes, caught between the warring worlds of convention and the untried. You reach for one pole while also straining for the other. This, as you know, is impossible. You can try all you like to satisfy your curiosity both ways, but in time you must yield wholly to one or the other. That, or risk being torn apart.” 

They were both silent for a while after that. Finally, Azem said, “I suppose... that is what I wanted to show you tonight. And, admittedly, I wanted to satisfy some curiosity of my own.” There was a smile in her voice, and it made Emet-Selch’s heart squirm. He was still grappling with what she had just said, and the ghost of a thought spilled out before he could stop it. 

“Azem, I...” He choked. He found he could not say it after all. “That is, thank you for the insight. I will see you at the meeting.” 

She sketched a small bow, smile still in place. “Goodnight, Hades,” she said. And just like that, she was down the hill and away. 

Emet-Selch swallowed, fixing his gaze firmly up at the stars overhead. Modest Amaurot had its hands full with a firebrand like Azem, and he had already been burned beyond recognition. Not that anyone but he and Azem could see the damage. And he was not so terribly certain he minded the scars all that much. 

She was a mystery, and so she would forever remain. That was all. 

It was a long time before he moved again, and for hours afterward, all he could taste was the slightly sour tang of grape. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and feel so inclined, please join this lovely book club and chat about villains with me! https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD


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